Memories...

Okay! All ready! Food cooked, clothes packed (um, except mine), toys packed (except mine)....actually, we're not ready. But, in honor of our going on a family vacation where Larry and I are sure to grab every opportunity to drag our children to historical or otherwise educational sites, I'd like to reminisce about the summer of 2003.

In July of 2003, we moved (temporarily) to Newport, RI. We were determined to make the most of our year in New England by visiting every museum, restored farming village, seaport, etc., that we could. We did ourselves proud, I'll tell you. We made at least 3 pilgrimages to the Mayflower and Plymouth Plantation alone. Twice we visited Sturbridge Village; I lost track of how often we graced Mystic Seaport with our presence. And once, that memorable summer, we drove to Boston to walk the Freedom Trail and to visit the USS Constitution. Here it is, in my words (but 5 years younger):

Today we ventured out to Boston with the 5 kids, Larry driving and me reading the maps. But it's okay - I'm sure we will be on speaking terms sometime again soon. Larry blames MapQuest. I blame him, for bringing along a book of Boston maps which it turns out he bought at a used book store. Used, as in out-of-date. (He claims anything would be out-of-date, because of the ongoing road construction project in Boston). Also, for some reason, instead of having the map of New England states in our glove compartment, we had a Maryland map and a map for Norfolk, VA. These were not useful.

Anyway, we found our way to the Freedom Trail and followed our very knowledgeable Nat'l Park Service ranger around Boston, listening to an over-detailed account of each site. Afterwards, we picnicked near the Old North Church, in a light but refreshing rain. We gambled that the rain would let up while we hoofed it over the Charles River to the USS Constitution. We lost. It didn't help that Larry had to drag an hysterical David over the bridge (it had those steel gratings and David thought he would fall through) while backpacking Rachel. Not exactly the pleasant stroll we had envisioned. But that's okay - we made it to the USS Constitution, where they wouldn't let Larry take his small Swiss Army knife on the ship with him. Larry decided to leave it in the diaper bag and leave the diaper bag in the stroller outside the entrance. He claims 2 people said that was okay. I don't know about that.

We were down on the gundeck of the ship when an official-looking gentleman came looking for the owner of an abandoned backpack. Our abandoned backpack, as a matter of fact... So Larry went off with him, while I sat there and waited and waited and waited, and Rachel kept trying to throw herself down open hatches and screaming when I pulled her away. Finally I maneuvered all of us up the stairs and down the gangplank; we found Larry standing outside the entrance (sans handcuffs, thank goodness), looking extremely annoyed because they wouldn't let him back in. Turns out that, after Larry managed to convince the guards that the suspicious-looking backpack was nothing but a diaper bag, he attempted to re-enter (with the bag this time). The already suspicious guards found the verboten (and forgotten, by Larry) Swiss army knife during their bag search. This strikes me as very funny, but security guards aren't known for their sense of humor.

The ride home was pretty much as disagreeable as the ride there, particularly because Brian and Rachel developed a game wherein they would shriek at each other in really high-pitched voices. I'm surprised the windshield didn't shatter. We broke down and stuffed them with hamburgers and fries for part of the ride (full mouths make less noise); but we soon ran out of ammunition, and I spent the rest of the ride promising myself that next time I would stay home. Or, better yet, they could all stay home and I could go by myself. I think we have had quite enough of family togetherness for the time being.

You know, it's a little disheartening to read all that the night before a big trip. But at least I can be assured of some decent stories to tell next week. (But don't I sound younger up there? I think so.)

*******************

And we have a winner, folks! I mean, we have a winner as soon as I write down all these names and put them in this plastic bag. Give me a minute...

What? It takes time to tear off all these little strips of paper, you know...

Okay, they're in the bag and now I'm shaking it up. Whoops! A bunch fell out - should I disqualify those? No? Okay, back in the bag they go! And...the winner of Traveling Mercies is...

(I love this part.)

AMY!!!!

of

Live, Learn, Knit

That is just so cool, because tonight I was talking about Rhode Island and Amy lives in Rhode Island. And, no, I didn't peek in the bag at all. Sheesh.

So, Amy, e-mail me your address. I'm hoping to mail these books tomorrow. Really.

If you want to hear me say something good about my teens, go on over to my post today at MidCenturyModernMoms. This could be the start of something beautiful. Or, more likely, it's just a fluke.

Vacation Preparation

[Any of you who have wandered over here from The Well-Trained Mind forum: just type "fridge" into the search bar at the top left and you will find what you are looking for.]

After nagging my husband into joining us at the pool this afternoon, I began feeling seriously unwell. So, I left him there. (Good thing we came in 2 vans). I'm sure Larry thinks I lured him to the pool with the intention of leaving him alone with the 4 youngest while I went home and took a nap.

It was a great (3-hour) nap, though. I don't know what hit me. Maybe an entire summer's worth of sunscreen and swim towels and Italian ices, all at once. And I just had to lie down.

We are leaving on Monday for a whole week, which means I need to spend all day tomorrow cooking and freezing dinners, doing laundry, and planning which knitting I need to bring. This last is a very involved process that necessitates itemizing all the yarn I own, perusing all my available patterns (including free ones on the Web), and (quite possibly) making a few trips to Michaels and to the bookstore to pick up more yarn, or patterns, or the right-size needles (which I have but can't find).

And then there is the trip to Target for more underwear. And some envelopes for the books I am finally going to mail. (If you click on that last link, you can still sign up for this week's Bloggy Book Club giveaway.) And some treats to bribe the kids with in the car. And icepacks for the cooler. And...

Actually, I bet there will be 2 trips to Target. I am not the most organized person in the world.

Oh, and then I have to clean the whole house, because heaven forbid we all die on the road...

...Gang Aft Agley

Like that title? I'm so literary.

Seems that no matter how hard I try to be organized on the packing end of a trip, things are always a mess after a day on the road. I can't find a darn thing, I didn't bring enough warm clothes (times 5 people) for a trip north, and Larry is out searching for a store that might carry 2 child-sized toothbrushes and a razor. I can't imagine how we could have forgotten anything, as we loaded more stuff into our minivan for a weekend trip than Ma and Pa Ingalls packed into their covered wagon to move their entire household across the prairie.







This is us, only we have car seats. And a lot more stuff.







Someday our children are going to figure out that all other 21st-century youth have IPods and DVD players to entertain themselves on long car trips, and they are going to be very angry. What can I say, kids? Your parents are cheap Luddites. You gotta play the hand you're dealt.

Anna was not exactly overcome with tears to see us leave this morning (she's staying at a neighbor/friend's house so as not to miss an orchestra audition tomorrow). And she looked downright annoyed as Larry attempted to explain to her the importance of locking the door behind her when she leaves the house. I mean, he is just so hung up on personal safety, and why are old people so paranoid, anyway?

At one point during our car trip, the driver in front of us threw some litter out his car window; so Larry insisted on playing Highway Police by honking at him. We happened to be stuck in a traffic jam at the time; if the driver/litterer had happened to be the truculent type, he could have easily gotten out of his car, walked back to ours, and smashed our windshield in. I pointed this out to my beloved in a rather heated tone, so then our kids were treated to a loud parental discussion of the merits/disadvantages of vigilantism. I'm sure it was educational.

No more Internet access until Monday, Lord help me; but I'll take notes, and we can all catch up next week, 'kay?

Anticipation...

Apparently, I am going to spend my first free weekend in 17 years at what future generations will undoubtedly refer to as the Woodstock of Knitting. The gentleman at WEBS sounded a little shaken up yesterday when he relayed to me the information that a thousand people will be descending on his store just to hear the Yarn Harlot speak. Imagine, if you will, one thousand knitters all in one place. Having trouble? Me, too. All I can picture is people waving placards proclaiming, "Make sweaters, not war..."



Of course, first I have to get there. Free weekends aren't free, you know. Here was my list:

1. Wash every single piece of clothing in the house so that everyone has enough clean clothes for the trip to Grandma's and Grandpa's house
2. Make sure all those clothes are actually packed in people's individual backpacks.
3. Keep Susie from unpacking her backpack, repeatedly.
4. Feed Susie lollipops to get her to stop screaming after I confiscate her backpack.
5. Buy special car treats to keep everyone happy in the car
6. Clean all the crap out of the car so that we can fill it with fresh crap.
7. Vacuum the car, since it is the first time in 4 months that it has been clean enough to vacuum.
8. Periodically threaten that no one is going anywhere if they don't leave me alone long enough to get all this stuff done.
9. Rummage desperately through pantry for Coke. Settle for diet Coke instead.
10. Realize Diet Coke ain't gonna do the trick.
11. Spank everyone soundly and send them to bed.
12. Enjoy some peace and quiet and foolishly decide I'll have time to finish everything in the morning.

Entering the Twilight Zone

Well, no one can accuse us of overstaying our welcome. We head back home this evening, and we are hoping that most of the children will sleep in the car for most of the ride back. Eternal optimists, we are.

We visited a county park today and climbed up a hill to see the ruins of a "castle" built by a successful industrialist at the beginning of the last century. Wanting to know more about the history of the place, Larry and I googled the name of the location when we got back to my parents' house. But the webpage dedicated to the site has a picture of a completely renovated castle, a renovation that was finished about 7 years ago and contains both an art museum and a library. It is definitely recognizable as being built up from the ruin we saw today, which makes me wonder what the heck is going on. We saw a ruin. I know we saw a ruin. Now I wonder why we didn't see mysterious little Dutchmen playing ninepins up there.

I'm spooked, can you tell? Read Rip van Winkle if you're confused.

Larry is getting a little irritated that he is trying to leave and I'm not. Bye for now!

On The Road Again

Well, we made it to my parents' house. It was a fairly uneventful car trip, disturbed only by Rachel's whining that she was hungry (because bagels, Twizzlers, and raisins did not fill the bill - I have no idea what she was expecting in the car - filet mignon?) and by my whining about how hard it was to pick up loose stitches in a moving vehicle. I'm also having a motivation problem with this knitting project, because I keep looking at the sock and thinking, "This should be a sweater." Which thought makes absolutely no sense, as I do not know how to knit a sweater. But that doesn't stop me from slipping the unfinished sock on my arm anyway and admiring how it looks as a sleeve.

It's a miracle we got the kids to sleep this evening. They were so wound up on candy and tickling and Bugs Bunny movies that I thought we'd need to use a tranquilizer dart gun to settle them down for the night. Really, all that the children do here is eat fun food, play with Legos (as if we don't have those at home), and fight over who gets to use the camera on Uncle Mike's cellphone. And they think it's just great. Larry hides downstairs, pretending to be updating the security software on my brother's computer. And I wander around, marvelling at how everything still smells the same as when I grew up in this house. (What's up with that, huh?) It's not exactly a family trip to DisneyWorld, but it's a heck of a lot cheaper.

Now I am doing laundry. Because Susie has somehow managed to pee on all of the clothing I had packed for her. But I'm used to doing laundry on vacation. It's almost a family tradition.

Google Giggle

Oh, dear. You know, on the Firefox browser, how there is that little rectangular box in the upper right-hand corner, where you type search words for Google? And you know how, unless you remember to go back and delete, those search words stay up there until you do another search? Well, imagine my unsuspecting husband's consternation when he sits down at his computer this evening and sees "nude knitters" in his search box. That took some explaining, I must say. Because he doesn't read my blog.

We've been busy today getting ready for a weekend car trip to my parents' house. The kids are very excited about it, because they like all the junk we feed them to get them to be quiet in the car. And they like all the junk Grandma and Grandpa feed them when we visit. They are very food-oriented, my children. I'm excited about the trip because I get to spend over 4 hours knitting with no one bothering me (except to ask for more Twizzlers). Anna is excited about the trip because she is not going; she's staying with a friend instead. I don't think Larry is excited about the trip, but he married me and he's stuck.

So I need to go finish the zillion loads of laundry that always need to be done before we go away for a mere 2 days. And I need to clean up the house, so that if we all get killed on the highway, perfect strangers won't come in and say, "Oh, my Lord, they lived like pigs." It's a little phobia of mine.

Breaking Point

Susie spent the entire day with her arms around my neck or screaming. Except when I broke down after lunch and gave her a nap, which means that she will be up until 10 this evening. I am about to snap. I can see the headlines now - "Mother Charged With Leaving Toddler at Bus Stop; Lawyer Plans 'Justifiable Abandonment' Defense."

We had a case in the local news recently of a woman putting one of her kids in the car trunk during a longish road trip. While the dog sat up front. Maybe I've been a parent too long, but I don't see the problem with that. The dog doesn't bicker. The dog doesn't make weird sounds at a younger sibling until s/he cries. The dog doesn't insist on a McDonald's with a Playland. I can see where a parent could get to the point where the child needs to ride in the waaay back. Just punch a few air holes, you know? That mother had had enough, and she snapped. Like I am about to do right now, if this child does not stop standing on my kneecaps.

I'm okay, really I am. It's just been a long day. Longer than most.

Larry is getting home from work just in time to gulp down a late dinner and to accompany David and Brian to Cub Scouts. His evening's shot already - I might as well foist wide-awake Susie off on him. No reason for us both to suffer. And it beats leaving her at a bus stop.


Later, Much Later: It's now 10:15, and that child is still awake. I am never, ever letting her nap again.

Vomit Makes Me Want to Puke

Oh, dear, 2 days have gone by already? You know, time just flies when people are throwing up. Don't you think so? Actually, we had a vomit-free day Saturday, on which I ran around like mad and got all my errands done, because I knew that it was merely a brief hiatus and that the stomach-virus fairy was coming back. But she waited....so we went ahead with our plans to pack a fun picnic lunch and drive the 4 youngest to the great science museum in a city about an hour from here. We loaded everyone in the car and headed off and had a fairly uneventful car ride. Because Susie waited until we got all the way there, until we were pulling into the driveway of the museum, to start....erupting, really; there's no other word for it. She sort of burped, and scrambled eggs were pouring out of her mouth, for several minutes, while she sat there looking completely puzzled and the rest of us gawked in horror at what looked like a case of demonic possession. (For the record, scrambled eggs look exactly the same coming back up as they do going down; other foods do not have this property.)

So, Larry and I stripped her down and showered her with a water bottle we found in the car and put a fresh outfit on her (a miracle, really, that we found one in the diaper bag) and marched everyone into the museum. Of course, by this time, my stomach was feeling none too healthy and I had to make a supreme effort not to think about scrambled eggs. The museum was very kid-friendly and one room had a huge waterplay table, with dams and boats and little fountains, that the kids splashed around in, while Larry and I discussed what to do if Susie threw up into the water (we decided to pretend not to speak English); but we didn't have to worry, because all she did was pee all over herself and the floor instead, and no one noticed because it was so wet in there anyway. Yes, we are great parents. Thank you.

We steered the kids back to the car before anyone could get too hungry (no way we were feeding Susie again); so of course Brian cried because he wanted that nice picnic lunch (with lemonade) that we had packed for them and we told him that he had to wait until we got home. I don't really know what happened when we got home because I ran straight from the car up to my bedroom, where I lay for several hours in a fetal position trying not to throw up myself. One would think that after almost 16 years of raising kids I would have already encountered every stomach virus there is, but apparently I missed one.

And now we can just set that theoretical "number of days this blog has gone without mentioning vomit" counter back to zero.

Philadelphia Story

Today we decided to be spontaneous and do a little day trip to Philadelphia (which is, frankly, a little more than day-trip distance from where we live). We had to arrive there before noon, as the Seaport Museum offers free admission until noon on Sundays, and we needed the admission money to pay for the gas to get up there. So that entailed an early morning start, which meant that we had to leave the house in a not-very-tidy state, which I hate. I worry that we'll get killed on the road and relatives or neighbors will have to go into our house to figure out what to do with our possessions and will see what a mess we lived in. I'd die of embarrassment (that is, if I weren't already dead).
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A long drive could be pleasant if we were allowed to listen to the radio. But Susie (otherwise known around here as She Who Must Be Obeyed) has decreed that only certain music may be played on our new CD player in the car. It has to have words, and it can't have too much "Daddy voices," for starters. This really bothers Larry, who erroneously assumed that as a grown-up he'd be allowed to listen to whatever he wanted to. We tricked her with a little Broadway show music for a bit, but then we had to bite the bullet and put in Raffi. Unlike Larry, I don't mind listening to Raffi, but his songs all have the distinctive quality of being able to burrow into your brain and stay there for a very, very long time. This is a bad thing.

Theo was away on a canoe trip and for some reason our teenage daughter Anna had absolutely no desire whatsoever to spend the day with us, so we only took 4 kids; that meant that I was able to be a passenger instead of driving the second car, which meant that I finally had time to finish crocheting a hobo-style bag that I started last year. Yes, it took me a whole year to find a big enough chunk of time to figure out what mistake I had made so that I could fix it and get on with the project. In fact, I didn't care about seeing Philly at all. I just wanted a car trip long enough for me to get the bag done. Philadelphia was just a nice bonus.

We saw the Seaport Museum (for free!), which was filled with just enough kid-friendly activities to enable us to stay there a whole hour; then we visited the Tall Ship Gisela (and if anyone can explain to me the "Tall Ships" concept, I'd really appreciate it), where I was able to show off to the tour guide all the stuff I learned about ships during our year in Newport, RI (forgive me, but I so rarely get to show off about anything...); and then we visited a submarine and the USS Olympia, which I believe was Commodore Dewey's flagship during the Spanish-American War (learned all about that yesterday); and then, being thirsty and hot and tourists, we spent a large portion of the children's college money on what the Philadelphians call Irish water ices, which were sort of thick, dye-ridden Italian ices, only not as good.

Since we wanted to tire out the kids before putting them back in the car, we dragged them on a couple-of-miles walk into the city to see the Liberty Bell, which is cordoned off behind a security shed and not exactly, um, free, if you get my meaning. There must be better things for Philadelphia to spend its security dollars on - evacuation plans, say, and maybe some terrorism-proof communication systems. Besides, the Bell already has a crack in it. What else is someone going to do to it?

So that sort of bugged me. Because the last time I saw the Liberty Bell was 20 years ago and it was out in this sort of open brick pavilion in the middle of a grassy lawn, and that seemed a little more fitting, somehow, than housing it in the museum equivalent of a bunker.

Anyway, we traipsed back to the car, getting a little lost on the way, and settled in for the ride home, after spending the rest of the kids' college money on bottles of water that weren't heated to 90 degrees by sitting in the car in the sun. We arrived home exactly at bedtime, with Rachel and Susie both well-rested from their naps in the car. So I sat at the computer and told Larry I had to finish an article for Home Education Magazine (I lied - instead, I goofed off in the blogosphere) and he was in charge of somehow stuffing them in their beds against their will. If this seems unfair, let me point out that he left me (again) this morning for a 4-day management retreat. So don't talk to me about unfair.

Another Day at the Beach

Larry and I, in one of those lapses of sound judgment for which we are reknowned (can't remember how to spell that), decided to take the kids on another day trip to the beach. I even dragged myself out of bed at 6:30 to ensure an early start, which was very difficult, as I am still trying (after 4 months) to acclimate myself to Daylight Savings Time. Anyway, we actually had the car loaded with all our gear (no mean feat) and everyone had just gotten buckled in and Larry was just about to sit himself in the driver's seat when Brian announced that his stomach felt funny. Being seasoned parents, we took him inside and told him to hurry up and vomit, because we had to get going. Boy, is that kid going to have a lot to tell his therapist someday. 20 minutes and no puke later, we deposited him back in the car with his very own plastic bag to vomit into, if necessary. And we refused to feed him. So he arrived at the beach a very traumatized little kid. And Larry and I had a not-so-relaxing ride ourselves, listening to him whimper and waiting for him to blow, so to speak. But he didn't.

It just occurred to me that I have reset my theoretical vomit-counter-widget back to zero again. Darn.

We left Anna at home, because for some reason she had no desire to sit in a car with all of her detested siblings for 3 hours just to watch them frolic at the beach. Boy - you can just feel that love, can't you? We don't mind - that way we didn't have to take 2 vans. Though I think I will opt to take 2 vans next time anyway - Brian and Rachel and David bickered in the back seat most of the way home, to the point where I would have knocked all their heads together if I just could have reached them.

But it was fun - really. The weather was good, the beach wasn't too crowded, and I only spent about half the time worrying about rip tides. The other half I spent protecting Susie from some very hungry seagulls. One of them snatched a sandwich out of Theo's hand. I didn't even know that seagulls liked salami. As an added bonus, we were able to get some kite-flying in. To understand kite-flying in our family, you have to think back to Charlie Brown trying, year after sorry year, to kick that football without Lucy pulling it away from him at the last minute. Well, with Larry, this will be the year that we actually get the kite aloft for more than, say, 15 seconds. It wasn't, of course. Larry blames the kite. Luckily, the kids don't seem to notice this pattern and are always willing to give it another go. They are so sweet and trusting. Or stupid, maybe.

Now was that a nice thing to say about my own children? It's just that, sometimes, you just gotta wonder.

The ride home was blessedly uneventful, aside from the aforementioned constant bickering from the back row. And even that served its purpose - it made me glad to get home.

On the Road With Harry Potter

Faced with the prospect of another fun-filled weekend of home renovations and reorganizing, we ran away instead. We decided to visit Theo at the Boy Scout camp where he's working this summer and see how the simple life agrees with him. Anna was quite excited about this plan - she couldn't wait to sit in the van with her 4 younger siblings for over 3 hours and then walk around in the woods of southern Virginia. (There really should be a font which indicates sarcasm.) Her displeasure was only slightly ameliorated by the fact that while she was sitting in the car, she could read the latest (and last) Harry Potter book without being asked to stop and help around the house.

Because we were leaving so early Saturday morning, we had to visit the bookstore at midnight Friday to get the books (yes, 2 of them - David ordered his own copy). Alas, if it were only that simple. What we really had to do was show up at the bookstore Friday morning, before it opened, and get in line behind the approximately 100 people who were already there in order to get a wristband that would enable us to get the books at midnight. Then, Larry had to take them to the bookstore at 9 that evening so they could sit around and wait 3 hours to get their hands on the precious tome. We had been warned that if we showed up later than 9, we might not be able to get in. It was true. I was supposed to relieve Larry of bookstore duty at 10:30, but he called and said not to bother - there was no way to get past the mobs around the front of the store. And even if I did, there was a bookseller with a bullhorn barring entrance to latecomers. Booksellers with bullhorns, attempting to calm an agitated crowd - hard to picture, isn't it? Larry's voice seemed to be shaking a bit as he relayed this piece of information to me. "Are you guys all right?" I asked him. He said they were, he was just a little freaked out by the numbers of people wearing capes and brandishing "wands." I guess he almost got it in the eye a number of times. "What's going on here?" he asked me. That's what you get if you send a Potter virgin to one of these book release extravaganzas. They suddenly realize that they don't know what's happening. It's not my fault - I had begged him more than once to read the books and brush up on his Potter lore, but he refused.

Where was I? Oh, yes - they managed to get their books and escape the mob outside the store. (I'm told Larry was yelling at the kids, "Hold it close to your chest! Don't let anyone get it!" as they made their way between the lines of police tape and out to the parking lot.) When they got home, I immediately confiscated both books and told the kids to get to bed and get some sleep before the trip. Which I did too, after I read a couple of chapters. (You didn't think I was going to buy a third copy, did you?)

We found Theo well and happy in the woods of southern Virginia. We had a picnic by the lake and he gave us a tour of the camp, including the disheartening scene of the staff members on their day off, all sitting around in a circle by the tents and smoking like chimneys. Theo says that they're not worried about getting addicted to nicotine. They're just smoking because they like to smoke and they don't want to stop. But they're not addicted. That's what they've told him. So that's okay. Theo's not bad in the sarcasm department himself, you know.

Anyway, we walked with Theo to the camp headquarters where he found that his copy of Harry Potter had arrived (yes, our family now owns 3 copies of that book - what of it?). He wanted to finish reading it that day because he had a waiting list of several other staff members who were going to read it after him. For 5 dollars a day. Apparently, Theo is nobody's fool. So we left him to his reading and continued on to West Virginia, where we were staying at an out-of-the-way navy base for the night. We only got lost once, on a winding country road; but we were helped out by a pleasant old gentleman who apparently hadn't gotten to talk to anyone since Bush's first Inaugural. So along with giving us directions, he regaled us with tales of his experiences in the Pacific during WWII and then stories of his grandfather's experiences in the Civil War (excuse me, I mean the War Between the States - we're in Virginia, you know). (In case any of you Yankees aren't aware of it, the War Between the States was never really settled in these here parts.) Every once in a while he had to step aside to let a car or truck go by, but then he'd come back and start talking again. After we finally managed to drive off, Rachel piped up, "Do we know that man?" We do now, sweetheart.

The Navy base was extremely isolated and extremely well-equipped: up-to-date playground, community center, game room, swimming pool, you name it. (Everything seemed to be named after Senator Byrd. It's not hard to imagine why. That's one senator who knows how to bring home the bacon.) We had great lodgings (3 bedrooms, kitchen, livingroom) for a mere 60 dollars a night (again, your tax dollars at work). It was ringed by beautiful mountains, which Anna and David barely glanced at, as they were engrossed in Harry Potter. Still, Larry and I enjoyed the change in scenery and we plied the younger kids with enough junk food that they enjoyed the experience too. And I finally got my hands on The Deathly Hallows (Anna is a fast reader), so I was able to read it before anyone could ruin it for me. Larry, however, is remaining steadfast in his determination to be a Harry Potter ignoramus.

Now we're back home, and wondering what to do with the rest of the summer. July is sort of a long month, you know?

Larry and I are so glad to be home, in our own house. We're both sounding like George Bailey at the end of It's A Wonderful Life - Hello, drafty old house! Hello, falling down apple tree! All the kitchen chairs are breaking - isn't that terrific! You'd think we'd been away a year instead of a week. It just felt like a year. But we're back. We survived. Some highlights:

Rachel's potty-training progress has gone right down the toilet. I knew we were doomed the first day of our trip when I took her into a rest stop bathroom to go pee. She said, "It smells funny here. I'll pee at home." Good thing I brought some diapers.

We had to caravan, as we can't fit everyone into one vehicle. Even so, both cars were packed full of stuff. Unfortunately, I don't like doing the driving on long trips. My back starts hurting, my knees start hurting, my hips start hurting (no, I'm not done complaining). To top it off, I harbor the conviction that I am going to die of deep-vein thrombosis from sitting in one position too long. So Larry, in a foolish attempt to flatter me, congratulated me on driving all the way from Mass to Maine on the third day. Give me a break - what choice did I have? Refuse to go on and live at Westover Air Force Base the rest of my life? When I pointed this out to Larry, his face lit up and he said, "You're right - it's the deathground principle!" For those of you as uninformed as I am, he was referring to Chinese military strategy as discussed by Sun Tzu (apparently the East's answer to Clausewitz) - it seems Chinese generals would purposely place their troops in positions where they would have to either fight or die - no retreat possible. I don't know whether to feel flattered that I passed the test or annoyed that my husband deems it acceptable to manipulate me using battle tactics he learned at the War College.

Anyway, I survived the drive; I'm sure a few years of therapy (psychological and chiropractic) will undo any damage that's been done.

Anna is apparently the only person in our family to feel inconvenienced by having to share a hotel room with 7 other people. I almost left her behind in Massachusetts.

McDonald's is everywhere, but it is extremely hard to find exactly the same McDonald's as last year - you know, the one with the best playland ever. We had to settle for the second-best playland, which made certain members of our family very sad. The restroom there was pretty good, however.

I spent most of my vacation driving and doing laundry (not at the same time, but wouldn't that be a good idea?). The best laundryroom was at the Air Force base in Massachusetts - 4 stackable washer/dryers in a row, so I could do all our laundry at once. I am definitely installing one of those stackables in our kitchen once all the kids grow up and leave. Then I would never again have to walk into our laundry/utility room/Larry's storage unit. It would be very good for our marriage. I found myself wondering what sort of laundryroom Mrs. Claus has. Does she have to wash all the elves' clothes too, or do their wives do that? Do elves have wives? Does Santa Claus frown on civil unions? These are the sort of questions that run through my mind when I spend most of my Christmas vacation doing laundry.

Uncle Frank is apparently getting more lenient in his dotage. He actually let the kids help decorate the tree this year. Up until now, he has never even let them touch the tree. Maybe it's because we make him watch the Grinch every year, and he's finally taking the hint.

A lot more happened, but I think I am trying to block it out. It's less painful that way. I know I've said this before, but there's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's no place like home.

Beach Trip - Sept 2005

Boy, did it feel good to get out of town for a couple of days! And the kids didn't even notice we were gone (ba-da-dum). But seriously, folks, just a short(?) 3-hour drive and we left those blood-sucking mosquitoes (whoops, redundant) behind. It was worth the $100 in gasoline (2 vans, remember?). We were relieved to find that our accommodations were decent. We had reserved, sight unseen, a 3-bedroom, 2-bath trailer on a National Guard base for only $60 a night (your tax dollars at work - thanks!); so we were a tad apprehensive as to what we were going to find when we got there. Good beds, clean bathrooms, complete kitchen - well, almost complete. As we were sitting around the table eating our lunch, one of the children asked, "Hey, where's the dishwasher?" Larry didn't miss a beat - "You're looking at them," he replied.

The beach was great. The surf on Monday was so high that none of the children could get beyond the first set of breakers, which suited me just fine. Rachel was repeatedly knocked over by the waves, but she would bounce right back up again like one of those blow-up punching clowns we used to play with as kids. It was very windy, so it reminded me of Newport - particularly of Larry's Reserve Unit BBQ where we had to keep chasing down the tops of our hamburger buns as they blew off our plates. Ah, fond memories...

But I digress. I noticed a woman about a quarter-century older than me staring at us as we arrived and set up all our beach paraphernalia. I figured we had ruined her day and she'd get up and move, but she stayed to talk. Turns out she had raised 6 kids with the same age spacing as ours, but her youngest is 25 now. I'm not quite sure if she was getting nostalgic or if she stuck around to remind herself how glad she is that they're all grown-up.

The second day, we drove a few miles up the road to a state park beach - it was all natural (sand dunes, no buildings), but with bathrooms - who could ask for more? We saw porpoises (dolphins?) swimming just offshore, and we were jumping up and down and yelling and pointing to show them to the kids. Everyone else on the beach was a local, as it was the day after Labor Day, and we realized that they were looking at us funny, so we settled down. After a few hours the baby was fussy, so I took her back to our trailer early and left Larry to gather up all the beach stuff and shower/de-sand five kids. I would have felt guilty, had I not done it myself all the time 2 summers ago in Newport. It's payback time, amigos!

I can be unbelievably petty at times.

Larry took the kids out boating Tuesday afternoon. There was a huge salt-water pond on base and we could rent a rowboat for a mere $3 an hour (again, your tax dollars at work). There was also a playground next to the pond where Larry attempted to injure himself by showing the kids that he could do a flip on the rings. Brian told him he was too old to do that. My thoughts, exactly. Disability insurance is expensive, you know.

We packed up the cars Wednesday morning for the return trip (by the way, both going and returning, we hit the road at 9:50 AM - we figure that must be our set point for departures) and we couldn't understand why Rachel was so anxious to get in the van. Turns out no one had explained to her that we were going home. So, after several hours of riding and, I guess, great anticipation, she burst into tears when she realized that our final destination was not, in fact, the beach.

There's no place like home.